Carson with Benefits
by chelsietea
Summary: Modern AU. Elsie entrusts Robert Crawley's estate agents to sell her house in London and Robert assigns Charles Carson to the business. Elsie and Charles are very attracted to each other and they soon act upon their feelings and desires. But is theirs only lust or something more is being born?


**Hi babieees! **

**I had this idea since I heard the interview with Phyllis talking about the possibility for Mrs Hughes to have "Carson with benefits" and I couldn't resist sooo... I decided to publish a new ff (don't worry, I'm working on A Little Courage too!)**

**I hope you'll like it. I don't know how often I'll be able to publish since school is started and it's even harder than last year. I'll do my best!**

**Enjoy (?)**

**PS: A Hughes -err, sorry, I meant to write "huge"- thanks to my beta, Angie (fantasy-fallacy-tumblingstone on Tumblr)**

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**Summary: **Modern AU. Elsie entrusts Robert Crawley's estate agents to sell her house in London and Robert assigns Charles Carson to the business. Elsie and Charles are very attracted to each other and they soon act upon their feelings and desires.

But is theirs only lust or something more is being born?

**ONE.**

Elsie squinted her eyes at the light coming in from the window.

She groaned softly, rubbing her eyes and trying to yawn as quietly as possible to avoid waking the man sleeping next to her.

She stretched her legs and sighed, turning slowly on her side to look at him, finding out he had already got up.

Feeling a bit relieved for that, she started stretching like a cat, sighing loudly in pleasure.

"Well, not as loudly as last night," she thought, smiling and blushing at the same time.

She rolled in the bed, kicking away the bed-clothes, then she sat up slowly, massaging her hair.

Elsie looked around herself, noticing things she obviously hadn't last night.

His bedroom was very classic. The light came in from a large window, shielded by grey Venetian blinds and the whiteness of the walls only emphasized the brightness of the room.

On her right stood a small wardrobe and next to the bed were two wooden bedside tables. On his rested a book.

She stood up, curious, and checked the title. It was "Treasure Island", by Robert L. Stevenson.

She curved her lips in a half smile and placed the book back to its place, before proceeding to search the room for her clothes. She found them discarded by the window and at the foot of the bed.

"We must have been rather in a hurry to take them off last night," she found herself thinking while she bent to pick them up. She put on her skirt and buttoned her blouse slowly, messing her already messed up hair with her hands.

When she finally exited his room, she looked around herself once more, feeling a bit disoriented.

"Good morning," his deep voice greeted her.

She turned around. He was standing in the middle of the corridor in nothing but his underwear and a white t-shirt. "That's a nice sight to be greeted with," she couldn't help thinking.

"Good morning," she replied.

"And what are you doing in the middle of the corridor, may I ask?" he asked her, sounding rather amused.

"You may. I didn't know where to the kitchen was. Nor the bathroom, which at the moment interests me the most."

He chuckled at that. "The bathroom is on your left. The kitchen is at the end of the corridor," he explained, pointing behind him.

"Thank you." She moved in the direction he had just indicated.

"If you need anything, I'm in the kitchen," he added, before disappearing from sight.

After using his bathroom, she followed him into the kitchen. As the bathroom and the rest of the house, it was incredibly clean and tidy.

He seemed to sense her presence, or maybe he just heard the sound of her naked feet on the floor. "I'm making scrambled eggs, want some?"

"Please."

She didn't usually eat anything for breakfast, but after the previous night's activities she had build up quite an appetite.

It struck her it had been almost two years since she had had breakfast and that was after she and Joe... she shook her head. Never mind about that now.

"I didn't know you cooked."

"What am I supposed to do to survive, living in this house all alone?"

"Buying Chinese whenever you feel like it."

He let out a small laugh as she sat on one of the stools around the table as he fussed over the cooker.

"Coffee or orange juice?"

"Coffee."

A delicious smell reached her and after a few minutes he put on the table two plates of scrambled eggs.

"They look wonderful," she commented.

"I hope they taste wonderful as well," he said, passing her a fork.

She took it and brought a piece to her mouth. "They taste good too."

He smiled. "Good, but not wonderful."

"Wonderful, then."

He placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. "You're too kind."

"Am I?" she replied, surprised.

He stared intently into her eyes. "Quite."

"He has the deepest pair of eyes I've ever seen," she thought to herself, suddenly feeling embarrassed. She averted her eyes and looked at her plate.

"Do you think anyone will want to buy my house?" she asked after a moment of silence, trying to find some topic to lighten the atmosphere that towered over them.

"Why wouldn't they?"

"I don't know."

"Your house is nice and it's in a very good area of London. You'll have loads of possible buyers, you'll see. Besides, you have the best estate agent to help you," he added seriously.

She chewed her eggs, then smiled mischievously at him. "Do I?"

He leaned forward, his face now barely a few centimeters from hers. "Yes, you do," he confirmed in a husky voice, before pressing his lips to hers.

She dropped her fork on the plate and cupped his face gently with her hands. She let him enter her mouth, she let him take control, lost in the sensations she was feeling.

God, that man was capable of turning her on whenever he wanted to. She had discovered it recently and she wasn't at all displeased by that.

After they broke apart he smiled to her and she smiled back, arching an eyebrow at him.

Then he looked at the clock ticking on the wall and his face fell. "Man, it's eight o'clock already. Best if I get a move on."

She saw him quickly finish his breakfast, then he went into his bedroom to dress.

He returned several minutes later, wearing a dark jacket with matching trousers and a white shirt.

"No tie?" she asked him.

He smacked his forehead and turned back on his heels, groaning. When he came back, he was wearing a light blue tie with a white pattern on it.

She grabbed her cup of coffee and drank it quickly.

"There's no need for you to rush. After all, it's me who has to go to work even on Saturday."

"And what am I supposed to do once you're gone?"

"You can stay here, I'll leave you the keys."

"Whoa, slow down, man," she thought.

"I think I'll rather get home, but thank you."

He shuffled on his feet, looking uncomfortable. Maybe he had realized what she was thinking.

He looked again at the clock. It was almost eight thirty.

"I must go now."

She grabbed her bag, which she had left on his sofa the previous night, and followed him out of the door, that he kept open for her to pass.

He closed the door behind him then turned to look at her.

"Well then," he murmured, clearly ill-at-ease. "See you around."

She didn't know why he had started feeling so uncomfortable. "Yeah, alright."

"I'll call you."

She leaned in for a last kiss and he happily obliged, kissing her squarely on the lips.

She entwined her fingers into his hair, drawing him even closer to her. He tasted of eggs, coffee and toothpaste.

He groaned in her mouth, grabbing her bottom and squeezing. She pulled slightly at his hair.

When they separated, she winked at him. "See you."

He watched her descend gracefully the stairs, to exit his flat.

"See you," he whispered at the air.

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